Yellow
by quietbang
Summary: There are some things too big to forget... and too terrible to remember.
1. Chapter 1

Yellow

Chapter 1: Patriotism

The noise had stopped.

The bands in the street were quiet.

The conference room was still.

Everyone was watching them.

"Where's my_ what?_" spat the older man.

"Patriotism." The younger man said this quietly, but defiantly.

"Bloody hell, you sound like my father. And anyways, isn't it a little rich for the fucking _Aussie_ to be lecturing me about my patriotism?"

"Maybe your father was right"

House snorted. "You are the first person to ever suggest to me that my father- a man who, to this day, longs to go kill some more Vietcong- was right about anything, but iespecially/i related to mattes of war and peace."

"Soldiers don't choose where they're sent." Chase pointed out, absentmindedly rubbing his left shoulder.

'No, They_ choose_ to sign up to go kill people. That;'s enough of a _choice_ for me."

"They _choose_ to fight for what they think is right." Interjected Foreman, but Chase shook his head.

"Not even. They have no bloody idea where they're going to be sent when they sign up. D'you think the boys being sent back in pine boxes,, the members of the reserve, d'you think in 2000 they had any idea where they were going to be sent when Uncle Sam made the call?"

House shook his head. "Do I look like I care? As far as I'm concerned, if you voluntarily sign up to go _kill people_- a point which you, Chase are willfully ignoring, - then I haven't the least bit of sympathy for you at all when you're sent home in a box, and I'm not the least bit proud of you, and I sure _as hell_ am not going to wear a ribbon or a t-shirt or a_ bumper sticker_ that says so.. It was your choice."

"Sometimes it's not a choice" Foreman pointed out.

"Screw that. There are always options."

Chase turned away from House and looked out the window, rubbing his shoulder harder.

"You really don't have any fucking idea, do you, House?" He said in a voice that was near a whisper.

The light was such that House was the only one who could see him crying.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N

Yes, I realize I may have inadvertently delayed the beginning of the first season by a year or so, but… **tosses hands up in the air**

Thanks for reading= review, damnit!

Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own House, it's characters., or anything else related to it except the first season DVDs

It was midmorning, and Chase was eating an apple with his eyes shut, savouring every bite.

Unbeknownst to him, House walked in.

"Sooo, Blondie… I didn't know that they let gays in the military."

"I'm not gay." He responded reflexively, then opened his eyes wide in horror.

"Ha!" said House

Chase looked down at the table. "It's none of your business, House."

"You were 18… left at 28… Wow. 10 years with the Australian Defence Force. That'd be- what- 1994-2004? "

"95."

"To 2005?"

"Yeah."

"Wow…" said House, drawing it out, "That must have been, what, five tours?"

"Six." Said Chase, looking at the ground, "I did two back-to-backs in 2003"

"Six tours… that would have been… East Timor… Afghanistan…Iraq?"

Chase had been looking down at the table, but now he looked up. "House! You bastard! You got my service record!"

"Simple math, you should try it sometime. By the end you would have been a… corporal?"

"Captain." This said through gritted teeth.

"Oh, forgive me, Captain. So those two back-to-backs.. they must have been Afghanistan or Iraq… and judging by your reluctance to look at me, I'm going to say… Iraq."

Chase's back stiffened.

"Oooh, I was right, was I? Tell me, Captain," drawing it out like a curse word, "How many people can you kill in a year, huh? Is there some sort of quota…. No, tell me. I'm curious. Curious to know what would posses an otherwise intelligent young man to volunteer to go shoot people."

" I didn't know." This said through gritted teeth.

"No, you wouldn't have, would you? The first time you renewed, in '99, you must have thought you were doing good things.. peacekeeping… such a noble sounding word. No, I'm curious to know what possessed you to renew in 2003. Just hadn't killed enough towelheads yet?"

Chase said nothing.

"Won't God be unimpressed? Isn't one of the commandants 'Thou shalt not kill'?"

"Why do you think I became an intensivist?"

"What, some sort of atonement crap? Hate to break it to ya, but the whole penance thing? Exists only in the Church. In the real world? Doesn't work that way."

Chase pushed out his chair with a bang and stood up.

"Ooooh…. Don't kill me, Captain. See that? I'm white."

Chase drew himself up till he thought he was going to explode. Then, just as quickly, he deflated.

"You really are a bastard, aren't you, House?" he said in a near-whisper as he walked out of the room.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Scar Tissue

**A/N I don't own House, unfortunately. Although David Shore is Canadian, so maybe I have some kind of cultural rights? Read, Review, Repeat: you know the drill. Just think of me as your angsty fanfic shampoo. :)**

"You don't know, House. You just….don't know."

The younger man was sitting on the floor, head curled over his knees.

"I think you credit me with far lesser intelligence than I have,_ Robbie_. I'm gonna guess you're going to tell me that you were 'just doing your job, just following orders'. That's not the issue. The issue is _why in the hell _someone would choose that job in the first place! Do you just have some kind of pathological desire to kill?Some deep hatred of brown people? And if so, why on earth would you become a doctor?"

"It's…. not like that, House."

"No? Then why don't you tell me what the fuck it's like, because I'm having a bit of difficulty understanding here, _Robbie."_

The young man shook his head.

"You pretend… it's not real. You pretend… it's just a dream. You try not to think. And by the end," here he sighed and his voice got even quieter, "You've almost convinced yourself of it. You don't- don't realize that it's real until it's over and you're home, or sick, or whatever."

"That's not an excuse, Chase." He spat, but some of the edge had gone out of his voice.

"Look, I'm not your fucking Dad, okay, House? Leave your weird Freudian issues out of this," he paused, "And leave me alone. It's none of your business anyhow."

"Robbie, Robbie, Robbie…" he continued mercilessly, "What would _God_ think?"

"I don't know, okay?" he was in tears now, "I don't know, and I don't give a damn anymore. Can't. You don't know what it's like, House, so get off your high horse and leave me alone! Besides, it's all over now."

He curled up tighter and clutched his shoulder.

"It's all over now."

"It's all over now."

The old man had noticed something else, and plodded on. "Aren't you hot, Chase? It's July, and you're wearing a sweater. I wonder why?" And before Chase could do anything, grabbed his arm and pushed up the left sleeve.

What he saw should have shocked him, but it didn't. dozen of silvery lines crisscrossed the skin, all the way up to the elbow. Some were angry red, and more were fresh: puffy, scabbed, and hot to the touch.

"Well, well, Chase,"he said "Most of us outgrew our fourteen-year-old emo phase long ago."

"You don't understand."

"No, you're goddamn right I don't! I'm learning a lot about you today, Robbie, and none of it makes the least bit of sense! Why? Why would you do that to yourself? Why would you do _this_ to yourself? Do you have a death wish? Why, Chase?" He smelled the desperation on him, and truth was, it scared him.

"Answer me, goddamnit!"

Chase shook his head, shaking slightly.

"There is no why."

"Bullshit, boy. _There is always a why_."

**A/N You know, that review box is both incredibly sexy and very lonely. Give him something, why doncha?**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N Don't own House. wish I did. We good? Good. **

Chapter 4: Options

"House, if you think Chase is suicidal-"

"He's not suicidal. He's an_ idiot_, but he' s not suicidal. "

They reached the door of Chase's apartment.

"Chase!" shouted Wilson, "It's me. Open up!"

The door opened cautiously. The Australian stuck his head out, bleary-eyed.

"…Wilson? ..House? What the…fuck are you doing here?" he slurred

"Chase? Are you _drunk?_!" Wilson asked, incredulously.

"Cool." Said House , walking into the apartment.

"Chase, let's sit down," Wilson said, grabbing the bottle out of Chase's hand.

House grabbed it and took a swig, then spat it out "Chase, how the hell can you drink this? It tastes like paint thinner?"

"House!" Wilson was leading Chase back to the couch. "He's bleeding!"

"Well, no shit Sherlock, what did I tell you?"

"Yeah but-" Wilson stopped. "House, he needs to see a psychiatrist, or-or something. It's not healthy to sit in your apartment alone and drink yourself into oblivion!"

"It's not? Sounds like Friday night to me."

"Never mind. I forgot who I was talking to. And it's Wednesday. And you don't cut yourself afterwards!"

Ignoring him, House came back from the kitchen with a large glass of… something.

"Hey, you. Blondie. Drink this. "

Chase went to grab the glass, and missed. Wilson picked up his hands and guided it to the glass, pouring it down his throat. Chase gulped it down and then started coughing.

"…Jesus Christ House…. You tryin' to kill me or somethin'?

"No, just trying to make sure you're still breathing."

"I didn't have… that much."

"Define 'that much'. There's a half-empty mickey of the shittest bourbon I've ever tasted on the table, and an empty one in the kitchen."

"I couldn't… sleep."

"Chase," Wilson said, "When you have that much to drink, it's no longer 'going to sleep', but 'passing out'. And you could die."

At the same time, House said "Fair enough."

The pair glared at each other.

Chase said "I think I'm going to be sick."

And without much ado, emptied the contents of his stomach onto Wilson's shoes.

They both stared at him, then at the sick. It was purely liquid.

"Jesus Christ, Chase," House said approvingly "Don't you eat?"

"..Don't eat… don't sleep… what do you think the bourbon's for?"

"Good point."

"House!" Wilson snapped "It's not a good point, it's a terrible point. The man needs help!"

House, by this point, was up and in the bathroom, rummaging through the medicine cabinet.

"Well, obviously he had it at some point: look at these." He thrust some bottles of pills into Wilson's hand.

"Amitryptoline, lorazepam, zopiclone… anti-depression meds, anti-anxiety meds, sleeping pills…? " He shook the bottle "They're all full."

"Read the date"

"February 2005? Bloody hell, that's…"

"Over 2 years ago. And, incidentally, around the same time a certain somebody left the ADF."

Chase looked up to see the older tow doctors staring at him quizzically.

"They… don't work."

"I've got a feeling they work a hell of a lot better than bourbon and self-mutilation."

"Wilson," House said , "Trust me. They don't."

Wilson glared at him.

"House, help me sit him up."

They hauled him up into s vertical position.

"Chase, why aren't you taking your meds?" Wilson said

"I already TOLD you, they don't work."

"Chase-"

"Wait a sec, Wilson. Ooh, what's this?" House pushed himself up and picked up a small velvet box.

"Put. It. Back!" Chase yelled, and tried to get up, but fell back onto the couch.

"House…"

"Issued to Robert M. Chase, for conspicuous gallantry. It's a-"

"PUT IT BACK!"

-"Distinguished Conduct metal. Oooh, our little Aussie is decorated."

"What'd you do, Chase?" Wilson asked curiously.

Chase shook his head. "…Get out."

"Whoa whoa whoa, d'you think we're going anywhere?" House taunted " With you too drunk to sit up, blood drying on your arm, and a switchblade on your table? A switchblade which, incidentally-" he walked over to the window "-I am throwing out." He tossed it out.

"Chase," he continued, "I'm afraid that if you ever want to get rid of us, you're going to have to tell the tale. Well, get rid of me, at least. I don't think Ken over there is ever leaving you, Barbie."

Chase looked at him. "What if I don't want to?"

"Want to what?" Wilson asked softly.

Chase looked at him, he seemed slightly more sympathetic than House.

"Remember. "

"I'm afraid," said House, "That you don't have an option."

"I thought you said there were always options."

"Not for you."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5: Decorated

Chase sat next to Wilson, his eyes closed.

"Hey! Blondie! Answer the question"

"Chase?" Wilson said softly, "The sooner you answer him, the sooner we can leave."

"Oh, _right_!" Snapped House, "As if you're going anywhere without throwing out every knife, boxcutter, paperclip, and sharp edge in this apartment. Speaking of apartments, Chase, are you sure you're a doctor?"

"Wha-"

"'Cause I sign your paycheck. And there is no way that with that paycheck you couldn't find something better."

"Slag off." Chase mumbled, rolling over so his face was buried in the couch cushions.

"Oh no," Wilson reached over, clucking his tongue, "Nononononono. You are keeping your airways open."

Chase snorted. "I've drunk more before this."

"I believe you, and that's what worries me."

"Hate to break up the orgy over there Wilson, but- _answer the goddamn question_!"

Chase laughed nastily. "I was in the army- what the fuck do you think they give medals for? _Planting flowers?_"

"Chase? You- you killed someo-"

"You really are an idiot, Wilson. Did you really think that the guns were just to look nice?"

"No- I just- never made the connection."

Neither of them had noticed Chase slowly curling up into a ball and placing his hands on his face. As soon as they did, Wilson reached over to shake his shoulders.

"Chase? Airways open, buddy"

"Don't TOUCH me!" He roared, and pressed his hands harder against his face.

"...Chase?"

"I won't go back," He whispered it like a mantra. "I won't go back."

"No one is making you go back, Chase." Wilson soothed.

House looked up. "Coward."

"What?" Chase looked up.

"You're a coward."

"House, they gave him a medal."

"So?

"You have no idea, House!" Chase burst out

"You keep saying that, and you're right, I don't. Why don't you tell me?

The young man shook his head softly "I didn't want to.

"It's different at close range…. Far away, you can disassociate, forget it's happening. Up close… you're fucked.

There was this kid… Christ, he couldn't have been more than 15… and he has this.. family… these little girls…" He paused and shuddered

"He had a gun at the younger girl's head. And the rest of the family down on the floor.

…and I had to go in… and… he shot me. Twice.

"I put a round through his shoulder, but…

he had a grenade. And he pulled the pin.

All I could do was knock him to the ground…Jesus Christ…. And I was on top of him. And… I had a knife. And I put it into his forehead. The bomb went of anyway, but the family and my troops were shielded…

"And the sickest thing of all? The girl still died, a few weeks later, of the fucking 'flu.

There was… so much blood.

Oh, God.

There was so much blood."

He buried his face in his hands, then looked at House.

"D'you know what the Arabic word for 'Mom' is?"

House nodded.

"I don't," supplied Wilson

"Umm.

And when I… before I stuck my knife in him, that's what he was saying: 'Umm, Umm'

"He was calling for his mother. "


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Just so there's no confusion, I do not, unfortunately, own House. I do own a Jeeves and Wooster boxed set, so that's something, right?If anyone is interested, Google 'blood alcohol level calculator' and see how many drinks yo can have before you **

**a) are drunk**

**b) pass out**

**or c) die**

**If you're small, it's a ridiculous amount... somewhere in the realm of 1 drink.  
**

"Chase…" Wilson said, "There was nothing you could do."

House glared at him "Sure there was"

"Chase… You.. you had no option."

Chase and House both looked at him. "There's _always_ an option." They said simultaneously.

"Wha-wha-"Wilson spluttered, "What could he have done? Chase, what could you have done?"

"Let her die. Killed myself. Let the grenade go off in his hand and the chips fall where they may.. I don't _know, _okay? Something. I could've done something."

"Oh God…" he drew a deep, shuddering breath. "Jimmy… I'm sorry…"

" 'Jimmy'? Who's 'Jimmy'?" House looked up.

"Chase, you're sweating." Wilson said.

House and Chase both fixed him with a look that quite clearly said '_Thanks, idiot'_

"I was just saying…" He trailed off feebly.

"Well, " said House, "I'd recommend one of these-holding up the lorazepam bottle- but I think my friend there is concerned with your vital stats."

" Don't need them. They don't… do anything, anyway." Chase looked up hopefully "You could… give me back my bourbon, though."

"Will you finish the story?"

"I'm done."

"No. What you gave us was your poor-little-me story about how you suck a piece of metal into a kid's forehead."

"House!"

He continued mercilessly. "I don't want to hear your war stories, I don't want to hear the things you did… I don't care about the _what_, Chase. I care about the_ why_. And, in this case, the who. Now, for the last time: _will you tell me why_?"

"There IS no why!"

"That's crap, and you know it. All it means is the why isn't something you want me to hear."

"Or maybe, House" Wilson cut in, "He just doesn't want to talk about it. And in the interests of our colleague not committing suicide, maybe you shouldn't press it anymore!"

House ignored him, and looked only at Chase. Eventually, the man lifted his head up and met his eye. He was a wreck- his hair wild, his eyes red, his pupil dilated. House almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

"…Bourbon."

House gave him a long look, then got up and started out of the room.

"House!" Wilson shouted, "Are you crazy? He'll die of alcohol poisoning, or at the very least be very, very sick."

"..Nah…" Mumbled Chase, "I won't pass out till three… two and a half, tops. " He smiled sickly "I need two just to begin to get to sleep."

"Chase!" Wilson snapped "Are you trying to kill yourself?"

Chase looked at him, with a queer half smile on his face. "D'you think I care?" A look of horror dawned on Wilson's face, but he continued "We all think, that life's, life's- that life …Is just so great, and singular, and… indelible! We think that the end of us is the end of the earth!

But it's not. Life ends every day. . . But you know that.

Thousands of lives end every day, and nothing happens.

Whole peoples die, and the only thing that changes is the text on the inside page of the newspaper.

Life doesn't matter. It has no meaning.

Why should death?"

He fell back against the couch, exhausted. "Bourbon."

"Right." House hobbled off to the kitchen, leaving Chase to sit there with his eyes closed and teeth clenched next to a shocked Wilson."

House returned with the bottle. "Here." He passed the bottle to Chase.

Chase took a long, deep sip of it. Wilson watched the level of liquid in the bottle with the expression of a man trying to do math inside his head.

He was, incidently. He was estimating Chase's body weight and trying to guess his blood alcohol level.

"Hey hey hey," House said, pulling the bottle from his lips "Don't pass out 'till you've finished the story."

"I'm not nearly drunk enough yet."

"We're not leaving until we hear it- and until Wilson hear has figured out how to do long division in his head. Here-tossing Wilson his pocket calculator- I think he weighs about 70 kilograms"

Chase ignored the last part."You don't want to hear it."

"All that means… is you don't want to say it."

**A/N**

**So, a few of you re giving the button- and his pal, the review box- some love, but not nearly enough of you to make the guy happy. (He has very low self-esteem) C'mon. I've had over 400 readers and a grand total of... nine.. reviews. If you're into that sort of thing I'll do a giant thank you to everyone at the end, so you're screenname will be in print, if that thrills ya. Now give that (truly very sexy) box a night he'll never forget.  
**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N I don't own House. Or *a* house. *sigh* **

Chapter 7: Alive

Chase went to take another draw from the bottle.

"Oh no," Wilson caught it, "If you're going to drink like this, at least… at least eat something."

Chase glared at him, and tried to snatch the bottle back. Wilson held it high above his head.

"I'll make you sandwich," Wilson said, walking off to the kitchen.

""…Bourbon!" Chase called.

Wilson came back. "Oh, right," he said, passing the bottle to House, " I forgot."

"Hey!" Chase shouted angrily, pushing himself up off the couch. He stood for a moment, surprised at his own ability , took a step- and collapsed on the floor, knocking his chin on the corner of the table.

"Ouch." Chase said, spitting out a mouthful of blood.

"Is that a tooth, Chase?"House said appreciatively, "_Nice._"

Chase grinned at him with all of the grace of a '60s-era hockey player.

House took a long draw from the bottle.

"Hey!" shouted Chase, spitting blood.

"Fine, fine. " He set it down on the table.

"There's…more under the cupboard" gesturing vaguely in the direction of the corner of the room.

House walked over and peered into the cupboard. _"Christ, Chase."_

He pulled out empty after empty.

"Jesus, Chase, don't you have anything fresh?"

'At the back"

House pulled out two fresh bottles, biting the cap off of one. He took a swig, and he winced. "God, this stuff is bad."

He passed one of the bottles to Chase, who gulped from it greedily.

Wilson walked back into the room, bearing a sandwich. He thrust it into Chase's hand.

"Eat." He ordered.

Chase tentatively took a bite. Wilson grabbed the bottle out of his hands.

"Hey!"

"Chase," Wilson said softly, "If you have a problem, you need to get help. This isn't a solution."

"Oh, can it., Wilson"

"House! He- he" Wilson spluttered "He _has a problem._"

"His problem, not yours."  
"It is my problem! It's yours, too!"

"No, you are making it your problem. He comes to work every day. He's a good doctor. I don't care beyond that."

_"You don't care?_ If '_you don't care_' then why are you torturing the man?"

" I'm sure he's tortured people before. He's just getting a bit of his own back."

"No!" Chase shouted, struggling up. "I didn't, I didn't… I swear I didn't."

"Oh, please. What are you going to say next? 'I was just doing my job' 'I bet he didn't feel a thing?"

"I didn't... we didn't… NO! I didn't… It wasn't us… We were just…"

"'Trying to do your jobs'?" House suggested nastily.

"NO! We were just trying… just trying… just…" Chase rolled over.

"Trying to what?" House asked

Wilson leaned over. "Chase? Keep breathing, buddy."

There was no reply.

"Chase?"

"Chase!"

Chase sat up. He had unbuttoned his shirt and was removing it.

Wilson looked at him in horror.

House studied the scene thoughtfully. "Trying to what?"

Chase met his eyes.

"Trying to stay alive."

**Review. C'mon people... You know you want to... **


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:Nothing

**A/N**

**It has been suggested to me that Chase would have been the recipient of a Purple Heart had he been wounded, to which I say : Bah! Bloody Yanks! The ADF still uses much of the imperial system of medals, and they don't have Purple Hearts.**

**Without further ado.. okay, maybe just a little ado – _ado- _here it is: **

"Bloody hell," Wilson breathed softly, staring at the young mans scarred and puckered torso.

House cocked an eyebrow. "IED?" HE asked in a curious voice.

Chase bit his lip. "Among other things." He spat.

That reminded House of the subject at hand.

"Who's Jimmy?"

Chase shut his eyes.

"Who is he?"

Chase squeezed his eyes shut.

"Who is he?"

Chase covered his ears.

_"Oh you're such a fucking child_! WHO IS HE?"

"My brother, _allright_? Goddamnitt… he's my brother."

There was silence.

Chase looked up tearfully. "What?"

"What happened to him, Chase?" Wilson asked softly.

Chase stood up abruptly and shakingly made his way over to the cupboard where House had found the medal and the bourbon.

He threw things out behind him: soon, the floor was covered in a carpet of papers, boxes, cases and a pair of pants.

Finally, the man found what he was looking for.

_"Here."_ He said, thrusting the small, creased photo into Wilson's hand, "Here's a photo.

Wilson passed it to House. He studied it. It was a photo of a tanned young man in a military uniform, looking about 20 or so.

"When was this taken?"

Chase was looking at the floor. "2005." He muttered.

"What happened?"

Chase didn't answer.

"Chase? Where is he now?"

" I gotta take a piss." He mumbled, pushing himself up and staggering towards the bathroom.

Wilson watched him with worry.

House, however, was already sorting through the papers.

"Help me, James."

Wilson sighed. "Help you?_ Why should I help_ _you mess with a guy_ who, frankly, has been through enough already?"

His explosion fell on deaf ears.

"Oh." House said, straightening up. "Oh ho ho ho."

"What?"

"I think I found something."  
"Enlistment papers. Discharge papers._ Death certificate_." Laying each sheet on the table as he named it.

"Death Certificate?"

"Private James D. Chase. Died January 1st, 2005. Killed in action."

"Oh…" Wilson sighed softly "Oh, Chase…"

"Discharge papers- waving them about in the air- Honourably discharged February 16th, 2005…" He looked up. "They must have prescribed the meds for him after his medical examination. "

Wilson made a small sympathetic noise.

"This doesn't make any sense…" House said "He would have gotten compassionate leave… he couldn't have been back much more than three weeks. And you'd think that if he had been injured badly enough to be discharged, it would have taken more than three weeks…"

Wilson shrugged helplessly.

"Also… he renewed in '03… that means he still had two years left… why would he be discharged?"

"Desertion?" Suggested Wilson.

House fixed him with a scathing look.

"He was _honourably_ discharged, moron."

"The real question is," House continued, "Why did he enlist in the first place?"

"Don't you have his enlistment papers?" Wilson had given up any pretense of nobility of spirit and morals and was shamelessly pawing through his colleague's papers.

"Yeah, but they only say when and where, genius. They don't say why. They don't say 'I'm enlisting out of a hidden urge to make my father proud and as he is of the old school the best way I can do that is go get shot at.' Or 'I need the money, I have no skills, whatever.' Or 'All we've done in the last few decades are UN peacekeeping missions and I am a ridiculously idealistic liberal young man committed to spreading cool stuff like human rights throughout the land' or, 'my girlfriend thinks men in uniform are sexy.' Apart form everything else, that would take up far too much paperwork."

Just then a loud BANG! Came from the bathroom.

"Chase?" Wilson called, rushing down the hall.

House sat in the living room. Another document had called itself to his attention.

"Interesting…"

**A/N: Review? Prettypretty Please? _Don't make me beg…_**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Before I out my incredibly awesome basic grammar skills to work;), I'd like to point out something that was raised in a PM to moi: Chase said his brother's picture was taken in 2005**

**b) He died the first day of 2005**

**c) What the hell?**

**I assure you, it was not a mistake, and all will be revealed…. Now! Or, maybe later…**

"This isn't in the _least_ bit compromising, Wilson" House drawled as he surveyed the scene before him.

Chase was collapsed on the floor, his pants down, and a large goosegg was beginning to form on his head.

"House!" Wilson looked up from where he was trying to drag the man into an upright position, "Help me out here!"

"Can't," He said, pointing to his cane. "Cripple. Remember?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "I'm glad to hear you take the injury of a colleague so lightly."

"What? He's fine, he has a pulse..._ remember_? I watched you freak out like a mother hen when you thought you couldn't find one, until you realized you were looking on his collarbone."

Wilson blushed.

"I was…. Confused… I was worried…and you should have been too!"

"_Why_? He's alive, and, from the sounds of it, conscious too."

Chase groaned again.

"Chase?" Wilson said, "Chase. Are you okay?"

"…Wilson?"

House leaned over the man. "And what am I, chopped liver?"

"Bloody hell… what happened…?"

There was no answer.

"…?"

"House, he needs to see a doctor!"

"And what did you spend your years at med school studying? I mean, personally it was a two year comparative study of the different flavours of edible panties, but I always got the feeling that you were the kind of guy who actually went to his lectures."

Wilson turned his attention back to the young man.

"Chase, how many fingers am I holding up?"

"…Three?"

"Good. When is your birthday?- turning to House- When_ is _his birthday?"

"I've absolutely no idea." House said, popping a mint into his mouth.

"Alright, alright" turning back to Chase, "C'mon, let's get you back into the living room."

The man meekly obliged as Wilson half-dragged, half-carried him back to the couch.

"Owww…" He groaned, "My head…."  
"I'd recommend an aspirin, but out of respect for your liver…. " he stood up. "I'll be right back."

He returned with a bottle of ginger ale and three glasses.

"Drink." Wilson ordered.

"So, Chase." House cut in, "Gonna answer my question yet?"

"…Wha?"

"Oh, don't bugger around. _Answer the damn question."_

"I don't know…"

"Answer. Me. Now."

"I'm so tired…" The man's head lolled about his shoulders "I just wanna go to bed…" His head dropped further.

Wilson poked him.

"Chase!"

There was no reply.

"Chase! You can't sleep right now."

No response.

"Bloody hell. Chase!"

Wilson looked at House. "What do we do?"

House smiled. "I have an idea…"

**A/N  
**

**Whee! *dodges things being thrown at her* You thought I was going to answer, didncha? Didncha?**

**I will next time... maybe.**

**Oh, and.. did I mention- review?**

**I didn't?**

**Oh, okay.**

**Review!  
**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N Unless I'm mistaken, we never found out where House spent his childhood, just that he was an army brat who spent time across the world.. who's to say that his teen years weren't spent shooting up in Kansas?;) I don't own House. OR so *you* think. Bwah ha ha ha ha ha ha ha HA! **

Chapter 10: Boy

"How on _earth_ do you know the best method of reviving someone who's OD'd on heroin?

"It's called high school, Wilson, didn't you go?"

"Yeah, but-"

"Oh, I forgot. You went to some preppy Jewish day school on the Upper West Side. You kids weren't even doing each other, screw heroin"

"Oh, listen to you! You went to a high school on a military base in _Kansas_, not the West Side of Detroit."

"Potato, Potahtoe. We could all use guns."

"Because you'd been out shooting some possum for dinner, not because you'd done hard time!"

"Shows what you know. Whenever someone came back from a deployment in Asia…" he drifted off in a reverie, caught up in memories.

The two were standing in Chase's bathroom, the body of their co-worker in the tub with the shower running full-blast on cold.

"House, it's not working…"

He was cut off by a coughing fit from the blonde.

"Jesus Christ! You trying to kill me?"

"Just the opposite, Blondie. _Someone_ can't hold their liquor. "

Chase spluttered.

"Never mind," Wilson interjected hastily, seeing House begin to open his mouth. "C'mon, let's get you dried off."  
Chase was sitting o his couch, clad only in a towel.

"Where are you guys? I'm freezing my ass off out here!"

"These really yours, kid?" House asked, walking out of the bedroom holding up a shirt and pants.

Chase couldn't see them.

He got closer.

They were dinosaur pyjamas.

"I mean, they're pretty damn sexy…" House drawled, "I just didn't see you as the 7-year-old type."

"Give me those." Chase spat through gritted teeth.

He quickly dressed.

Wilson came back from the kitchen, bearing three cups of tea.

"So, Chase…" House said, "I know basic math's not your strong suit, but… according to _this_'-holding up the death certificate-'Your brother died on the first day of 2005. And according to you, _this_'-holding p the photo- 'Was taken in 2005. Now, I'm good, but even I won't look that good postmortem."

Chase bit his lip and shook his head. "He's not dead."

"Chase?" Wilson said worriedly, "He's dead. The certificate's right here."

Chase rubbed his face with his hands. "It's my fault… I'm the reason he joined up."

"What do you mean?" Asked Wilson gently, at the same time as House said

"Cut the crap, kid."

The two men stared at each other, then at Chase.

"He… always looked up to me.

He was 10 when I first joined up… he was the baby. … I'd write letters home, and I'd always send one directly to him… I'd send one for my sisters, but one always went straight to him.

And he loved it. He'd send me pictures, and packages… He was always the one glued to the news, wondering where we were now, what we were doing. What I was doing.

He loved me: I was like a God in his eyes. I could never tell him everything he wanted to hear, but he'd ask anyways.

After… after mom, I was taking care of him. The girls went to stay with an aunt, but… I dunno, I guess she didn't like boys.

He always wanted to join up, to be like me… the first real fight we had was when he was 16.

That was September 2002… we'd just gotten back from our first tour in Afghanistan, and… I was a mess. He wanted to join the reserves, but if you're 16 you need a parent or guardian's signature, and by then… I was what he had.

I wouldn't sign.

I remember the conversation, when I told him… told him I didn't want him to be like me. And _the look… _on his face… It was as if his world had come to an end.

He got into some bad crap after that, and by the time he was 18… he didn't want to join anymore.

I came home, cleaned him up… and by the time I was off on my next tour,, he'd joined up.

He headed out with me, but we weren't in the same section.

I was in hospital when I got the news… fucking IED killed two of my men, but not me.

He… he wasn't.. so lucky…"

He was sobbing now.

"When they… came and told me, I couldn't believe it… I snapped…

All I wanted to do was die… And they wouldn't let me.

And that pissed me off so damn much…

I couldn't believe it.

He's not dead.

He can't be.

He's just a kid."

**A/N**

**Well? C'mon now, review... Be nice to the box...  
**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N ...And, we're back, with the latest installment of 'Chase is emo and House is a douchebag, with your host, ChasingLupin!**

Chapter 11: Promises

_Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening_

_ By Robert Frost  
_

_ ....The woods are lovely, dark and deep  
But I have promises to keep,  
And miles to go before I sleep,  
And miles to go before I sleep._

That still doesn't explain the dates…" Wilson pointed out softly.

Chase rubbed his face angrily. "I was confused, okay?.... I was confused. "

Wilson sensed that there was more to the story, but he didn't press it.

House studied him with a look of disgust on his face. "Oh, _grow up,_ Robbie. I thought you army guys were supposed to be tough."

"What!?"

"House, His brother died."

"So? _Weren't you listening to yourself_ earlier when you gave your little poor-me speech on the meaningless of life and death? Didn't you say that 'hundreds of people die every day'? Cause guess what, captain, you're exactly right. People die. It happens. _You're absolutely fucking right_- life HAS no meaning! Neither does death. And living the way you do has even less meaning, and it sure as hell won't change anything. It won't bring your brother back," he paused, "And it won't bring you back either."

"Oh that's rich!" Chase shouted "Are you_ listening_ to yourself here, House? You're the king of wallowing, the king of misery- and, what, may I ask, is so damn bad about your life? You had a shitty childhood- here's a newsflash, _so did the rest of the fucking planet_. You 're in pain? You can barely get out of bed most days? Well neither can a lot of us, House, and at least you get a good parking space!"

"So just_ die_, Chase!" House exploded. "If life means nothing, if you are so_ fucking_ miserable, go into the bathroom and slit your wrists. I won't stop you. I might even come watch."

" I wish I could." Chase spat "Do you think I _like_ this? D'you think I enjoy living like I do? D'you think my dream all my life was to end up alone on the other side of the world slowly burning a hole in my stomach lining?

I _want_ to die, House.

But I can't, because some of us have responsibilities. Some of us have people who are counting on us. Some of us can't just cut off everyone we meet because we fear that if they get any goddamn closer, we might actually have to feel something for the first time in our lives!"

"Who is counting on you, exactly?" House growled, "Your sisters- halfway across the world- do they even know you're alive? Your friends? Do you even have any friends? Your brother? Judging by the lack of photos of anyone in your apartment, and the death certificate on the floor, I'd ay that if these people are counting on you, then you're doing a pretty shitty job of living up to your responsibilities!"

"I promised them!"

"Promised who?"

"All of them… J_immy, my sisters_… every time before I'd left, I'd always promise them that I wouldn't die, or come back in 'fewer than one piece or more than 3'…. So no matter how fucking badly I want to die, I can't, because it would be breaking my promise."

"That is the most absurd thing I've ever heard in my life!"

"Maybe to you, House, but then again, you don't really know what it's like, do you? You don't let people close enough to you for them to trust you, don't let them trust you enough to rely on you, don't let them rely on you enough to make you promise them something. Even," Chase paused to catch his breath, "Even if you did, you would break it, because _let's face i_t- the general concept of _brotherhood_, of _doing the right thin_g, of doing what you have to do, of _following orders_, of _keeping your promises_- you just don't get. I may be a coward, but at least I'm fucking trying…. I'm trying so… goddamn hard…" He was sobbing so hard now he could barely speak ".. I'm trying to do my duty… I want to make them proud…"

House haven been (very temporarily) struck dumb, Wilson asked "Who, Chase?"

" MY buddies… my troops… Christ, if they could see me now they'd be ashamed: they _should b_e ashamed! I'm a mess! And why? It was nothing compared to what my granddad went through, or your dad." He paused. "D'you remember, at school, those WW2 vets who'd come visit to talk about 'never again'. ? They'd be so sick if they could see me. Those men- They lived through hell, and… "

He trailed off.

"Who'd you want to make proud, Chase?" House looked at him curiously.

"I-I told you- I don't want my buddies-my troops-"

"No, no, before that... When you joined. What were you trying to prove?

"N-nothing. That wasn't the reason."

"Ha!:" House grinned "I thought you said 'there was no reason."

"I said there was no why."

"There's a difference?"

"Yeah."

"What is it?"

"Since when has war had a 'why'?"

**Well...C'mon... you know what to do....**


	12. Chapter 12

"Look, I'm tired."" Chase said, getting up "It's late. I'm going to bed, and I promise," turning to Wilson, "That I'm not going to go slit my wrists, or commit suicide, or whatever it is that you are so scared I'm going to do that you couldn't possibly go home."

Wilson studied him.

"Fine, but you're not sleeping in there. You're sleeping out here."

"Why, so House can rape me in my sleep?"

"Can't rape the willing" House supplied

Chase rolled over on the couch and gave him the finger.  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Why would you _do _that to yourself?" Robbie asked, rolling over to look at him.

"I dunno, man,"Said Dylan

Robbie went to pull himself up and tripped over his feet.

The pair started giggling hysterically.

"What are you two doing? Christ, you're so irresponsible!" Said a redheaded girl, her hands on her hips.

"Oh, lighten up, Rose," Drawled Dylan, "It's all groovy."

"_Groovy?"_ Choked Chase, "What is this, a Beach Boys song?"

Rose and Dylan looked at him.

"Faggot."

"Oh, for Christ's sake- I'm not gay! Honest!"

"_Uh-huh_." Said Rose, drawing a laugh form Dylan and a scowl from Robbie.

"So, Dylan," said Rose coolly, "You got some place to go in January, or are you just going to be irresponsible like this brother of mine here?"

"Hey!"

"I thought you were gonna be a priest, mate?"

"Nah, it's not for me."

"By which you mean 'they won't let me have hot passionate mansex'?"

Rose burst out laughing. "Are you kidding me? That's where we put our homosexuals! Vow of celibacy, my ass…"

Chase ignored Dylan and looked at Rose. "You, my dear, are going to Hell."

"I know. Ain't life grand?"

"So then, Robbie" Dylan drawled, "You going to school?"

"Nah, can't afford it."

"What? Man, I thought your dad was loaded!'

Rose and Chase looked at each other. "_Jennifer_" they spat simultaneously.

"What?"

"Dad's new wife."

"The one who-"

"Who stopped him from seeing his kids and-

"-prevented him from going to his ex-wife's _funeral_?"

"Not to mention cut off-"

"-Children of aforementioned ex-wife?"

"Yeah, her." The pair finished simultaneously.

"Wow, you guys have some issues with-'

"Our stepmother? You mean the one who is just slightly older than Robbie-

"-And laughs like a donkey? No, I don't think so, Rose."

"No issues whatsoever." Rose finished.

Dylan laughed. "Hey, where's Jimmy?"

"Over there," pointing at the field.

"So, whatcha gonna do, Robbie?"

He shrugged. "I dunno. Join the army, maybe?"

Dylan spat out his beer. "What?"

"I'm athletic, I'm…"

Dylan turned to Rose. "Is this the part where he starts monologuing about how _perfect_ he is?"

Rose nodded. "Athletic, smart…"

"Sculpted…."  
"Practically a Greek God."

"Oh, slag off, you two,"

"Seriously Robbie, why?"

He shrugged. "I… like food? And employment? And dental benefits?"

Dylan started laughing "You are _such_ a fag."

"What did I say?"

"When was the last time you heard an 18 year-old extole the virtues of _dental benefits_, Rose?"

"Yesterday. From Robbie."

"Dude… do you want to die, Robbie? Seriously?"

"I wouldn't die... When was the last time we were in a real war?"

"I've no idea."

"Jimmy would know," said Rose. "Jimmy, c'mere!"

Jimmy came running over. "Cara's really goood!" he said excitedly "She can score and everything!"

"Yeah, well, just don't hurt her, kay Jims?" Chase said,, "Remember, she's only 4."

The boy nodded seriously. "I won't. What did you want?"

"When was the last time we were in a real war?"

"erm… Vietnam. Before that, the Indonesian Confrontation, The Malayan Emergency, the Korean War, World War 2, World War 1, and the Second Boer War. Numerous UN Peacekeeping missions ever since, currently involved in Israel, Nigeria, Rwanda, and assorted deployments throughout Asia."

"That's creepy," Dylan whispered to Chase.

"Kay, thanks Jims." He ran back to his game.

"See? We haven't been in a real war since the 60s. Lighten up."

"But…"

"Anyway, that's what I'm doing."

"Why?"

He looked at the ground, then at the sky.

"Dental benefits."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~

"You think he knows he talks in his sleep?"

"Doubt it."

"You think that's really why he joined?"

"Why?"

"Dental benefits."

"Never underestimate the power of a good dental plan, Wilson. And no, I don't."

"Don't what?"

"Think that's why."


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N And.... we're back! This chappie is kind of quiet, and that's intentional. I think some very important stuff happens, though, however lacking it is in House/Chase-y Goodness! Be warned, this is '95, after this I'm skipping ahead to '99 -his first renewal- then 2001 for the declaration of war on Afghanistan by coalition forces, then 2003 for his second renewal... then I'll probably devote one each to 2004 and 2005. Then more House/Chase, which I know is what y'all come for. ;)  
**

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~~*

"_Eeeeee!_" the boy squealed as the young man swung him up by his shoulder. "Robbie! Put me DOWN!"

"Okay, okay," Chase said, letting the boy loose and flopping down on the ground .

Rose walked over. "Dad coming?"

"No."

"Strange… you'd think that this would be the kind of thing he'd get off on."

"Yeah. Well."  
"Robbie…" she sighed, and sat on the ground next to him. The fireflies twinkled in the night and the smoke from the bonfire mingled with the salty smell of the air, the quiet softness of a summer night. "If you're doing this out of…of some… some twisted way of pleasing Dad-"

"-I'm _not_."  
"Then why are you doing this, Robbie? "

He shrugged.

"Look at me!" she gave him a serious look. "Look at me, Robbie. Why?"

"Look at him, Rose." He gazed at their younger brother. "He's so smart."  
"Yeah, I know…" she said quizzically. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Rose!" He said exasperatedly. "We-have-been _on our own for two years_. He's 9. He's not going to start eating any less…"

"What-"

"You've been with Aunt Alice! You and Cara, you haven't had to worry about where your next meal is coming from- she gave you everything! All she's given us are some very ugly sweaters." He laughed a dry, humourless laugh.

"I . Can't. Do this anymore, Rose! I can't spend the rest of my life selling ice creams in a ridiculous polkadotted jumpsuit! I… want to go to school… I'm so damn sick of being the adult! "

She rested her head on his shoulder. "I think you look quite sexy in your jumpsuit."

He swatted her shoulder playfully.

"Anyway… if your sick of responsibility… joining the military doesn't eliminate your current responsibilities… and they train you to use a gun, you know."

"I know, Rose."

"Yeah, but… the ability to decide who lives and who dies… knowing how to kill… that's a pretty** big** _responsibility."_

"What else am I supposed to do?" He paused. "Jimmy'll be with Dylan… he'll be alright."

"Did you ask Alice?"

"She said no."

Rose put on a mock whisper "_She thinks you're possessed by Satan"_

"You're going to Hell, Rose."

"I know." She said cheerfully.

"So," Chase said, making a visible effort to change the subject, "Who's coming tonight?"

"Dylan, natch. Alice's bringing some cake. Darren, Sara, O, Joanna, Ben, Matt, Kate amd Jen are all coming together in the van-"

"-The shaggin' wagon?"

_"Ahh_ _yeah_." She smirked. "Ryan and Lianne are coming by later and Sal and Jem have to work, but they should be back around 11."

"What, did you invite my entire Year?"

"Pretty much."

"Did you tell them why they're coming?"

"Most of them…"

"Rose…"

"Well," she said in a rush, "I didn't want to ruin the bet."

"What bet?"

"The bet on.. whether or not.. you're pickingtonighttocomeout."

"What?"

"I'm not the one who made it!"

He sighed. "What are the odds?"

"10 to 1 for."

"What?"

"You really need to expand your vocabulary, Robbie."

He shook his head. "Anyone else?"

"Well…. James is coming."

"James? The one who never washes, smells like patchouli, and thinks all governments are fascist?"

"Hey!" She nudged him in the ribs. "It so happens we've _bonded_ over our shared political views."

"Oh?" He cocked an eyebrow "Like what?"

"Like the military is a fascist mysognistic organization and a 60s relic."

"Oh." He looked disheartened.

"D"you think I'm a fascist, Rose?" He whispered.

She smiled sadly. "Maybe just a little one."

"I'm just trying to stay afloat here. Rose… I'm just trying to do the right thing."

" I know."  
"Robbie?"

"Yeah?"

"Please don't die."

"I won't." He whispered into her hair.

"Promise?"

He was silent.

"Robbie? _Promise?"_

He looked into the fire.

"I promise."

*~*~*~**~*~*~~**~*~~*~**~*~*~*~*~~**~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~**~**~*~*~**~*~*~**~~**~**~~**~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~**~*~

"House?"

"Shut up."

"See, he was just trying to do the right thing..."

"And got it _wrong."_

'Well..."  
"I have no sympathy for you, Wilson, if your response to: I need to support myself is: I know! I'll go _kill people!"_

"He was trying to help his brother..."

"And got him killed."  
"That-"

"Was his fault, Wilson, and you know it."


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N Remember, it's 1999... Ah, that was a good year. I was four years old, and I got a trike! This conversation is loosly based on a real conversation i had with a close friend who just returned from Afghanistan... yes, I was the bitchy naive girl. **

_"Sunday Dress" by Dala_

_I'm 22 and I've been through hell_

_Where did I go when I lost myself? x3_

_And if I believed in Jesus_

_Like a little girl in her Sunday dress_

_And if I live forever like Elvis_

_Would I be perfect? (x2)_

_(Where did I go when I lost myself?)_

_(Perfect)_

_(Where did I go when I lost myself?)_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"I can't _believe_ you're doing this!"

"Rose…" Chase sighed.

"No! Don't '_Rose'_ me! You're_ different, _Robbie. You don't eat properly, you don't_ sleep_…. You can't keep doing this! You're not..." She choked on her sob "You're not my brother, anymore, Robbie

"He's right here, Rose." Chase whispered.

"No he's not. .. I want him back."

"Look, Rose!" He said exasperatedly, "What do you want me to do? I'm 22, Lord knows I have no skills, there's no way anyone outside of the ADF will employ me at above minimum wage, and my –our- brother needs to eat! So do I, for that matter."

"So how is this going to solve anything? In four years we'll be having the same conversation, only you'll be 26 and have no skills, then 30. And then what? What happens then, Robbie? What will you do?"

There was silence.

"Goddamnit, answer me! I'm not a child, I deserve to know what's going on!"

"You underestimate me, Rose," Chase said sardonically. "I'm going to go to school-between deployments. The ADF will pay… so in four years we might be having this conversation, but in 8 we won't."

"Wha-what will you go for?"

"Biochem, probably."

"Oh."

There was silence.

"Has Dad called you? He knows you're shipping out on Tuesday, right?"

"Yeah. We were going to have coffee today at Lou's."

"'were'?"

"He never showed."

"Oh, Robbie…" She sighed and put her hand around his shoulder.

"He's proud of you, you know."

A snort.

"He is! Really proud."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

"Robbie? What-what do you mean?"

"I'm not proud of me, Rose! It's completely ridiculous… we're so-so- _impoten_t! _Israel_- we stood and watched as people-kids- were killed because 'we didn' t have the mandate to interfere with a foreign government'_. Niger_- Sure, we could distribute food, meds- but there was never enough, and we couldn't stop the bombs form going off! We couldn't stop the death! _Rwanda_-" His voice broke.

"Robbie… that wasn't-"

"We knew, Rose! We _knew_… We were denied permission to go after those we believed were plotting genocide- _We knew_! And, a month later- **three-hundred-thousand** deaths._ Bodies_ lying in the ditches. _Babies _with bullets in their heads, still in their mothers arms. We had to- had to suit up, put on rubber gloves and pants, to clear out the bodies because there was-so-much blood. It was everywhere- and they didn't_ want us to contract AIDS_. We were powerless, Rose." He stopped to take a breath.

"We could have stopped it- and all we did was clean up after."

The girl stroked the back of his head.

There was silence.

Finally, the girl broke it. "Is it just me, or are we going through a bit of a role reversal here? Remember-" she nudged him in the ribs-"I'm the one who's supposed to rail against the actions of the military."

The young man gave a hollow laugh.

**A/N So.... review? C'mon. You didn' call. You *said* you'd call. **


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N Yes, I know I am a bad, bad author/updater, but I went in for some surgery and am still more than a little high- they gave me the gooooooooood drugs! ;P Also, yes, this is only slightly longer than a drabble, but I think I'll write a couple of these for 2001 than move on to my regular format for the succeeding years. Read, review, enjoy.  
**

Chapter 14: equations

Pain is a constant.

Loneliness is a variable.

Solve for 'x'

How can you do that if you don't know what 'x' is?

Y=mx+b- the equation of a line

Y=7

M=1

B=4

7=1x+4

-4

3=1x

/1

x=3

Math is so simple.

What about life?

He'd been sleeping when it happened.

Checked the clock.

It was late.

The phone rang.

It was Rose.

"Omigoodness, Robbie, are you watching?"

Yes.

"Whats going on… what does it mean?"

I don't know.

"What…what are we gonna do?"

We're at war.

"What?"

Trust me.  
________________________________________________________________________

The rain fell softly.

Plink.

Plink.

Plink.

Seems strange now. 6- or was it 7- months ago.

She couldn't believe it.

Rose'd thought he was just being a pessimist. NATO felt otherwise.

It's the sleeping that's the worst.

Images flashing.

Noises- too much noise-it's too loud- so loud.

The screaming

"NO!"

and he wakes up sweating.

Every night, every year.

How can he want to be a part of this?

___________________________________________________________________

**A/N C'mon, d'you really need to be told? Review!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N Hey! I'm back! It's 2002, and we have a ringside seat to the epic Robbie-Jimmy showdown. I'm getting fond of that character- I'm sorry I killed him off preemptively. ;-p THis is the longest chapter as of yet... and they'll get longer! Oh, and to clear up some confusion over the previous chapter, I pictured it as sort of Chase lying in his room one night shortly after he got home, unable to sleep, and just.. thinking. IT makes a lot more sense if you look at it as a stream-of-conscioussness thing, which is how I intended it. Oh, and yes, this poem is real. I know, I'm depressed now too. Enjoy!**

"I think I've _actually_ found the worst poem in the world."

"What?" Chase mumbled through a mouth of corn flakes. "What is it?"

"Ode to a Mammoth Cheese."  
"No" he gasped.

"Allow me, fair brother." The adolescent took a bow

" We have seen the Queen of cheese,

Laying quietly at your ease,

Gently fanned by evening breeze --

Thy fair form no flies dare seize.

All gaily dressed soon you'll go

To the great Provincial Show,

To be admired by many a beau

In the city of Toronto.

Cows numerous as a swarm of bees --

Or as the leaves upon the trees --

It did require to make thee please,

And stand unrivalled Queen of Cheese.

May you not receive a scar as

We have heard that Mr. Harris

Intends to send you off as far as

The great World's show at Paris.

Of the youth -- beware of these --

For some of them might rudely squeeze

And bite your cheek; then songs or glees

We could not sing o' Queen of Cheese.

We'rt thou suspended from balloon,

You'd cast a shade, even at noon;

Folks would think it was the moon

About to fall and crush them soon."

"Oh… oh, God…that's… that's horrific." he moaned. "Where did you hear that?"

"School." He said smugly.

"School? Really? I mean, I _knew_ you went to a crap school…"

"English. History of the English Language. "

"Christ, and this is what you studied? No T.S Eliot? Rudyard Kipling? _No?"_

"The rights were probably cheaper."

"Don't you have some… stuff.. . I need to sign?"

He went quiet. "Uh, yeah. Just a sec."

HE shuffle d off and returned with a stack of papers. "Here." He said, his hand shaking slightly.

Chase pretended he didn't notice.

"Hmm… 82%, not bad, not bad- maths and chemistry both need work, remind me and I'll give you some pointers… you're the one paying for this- you're 16 years old for chrissake, I'm not about to pay for you to go to the_ zoo_…No."

"You didn't even look!"

Chase looked at him sardonically. "If I didn't look, how d'you know what I'm talking about?"

"I-I"

"You're right, I didn't look. Chris called. Told me about your plan to throw your life away."

"It's my decision! And it's not throwing my life away."

"Actually- holding up the forms- as your 'parent or guardian' it is my decision… or did we jump forward two years and I missed it?"

"It's not like I'd ever actually get called up. It's just the reserve."

Chase sprung to his feet and walked towards his brother. He backed up until he was back to back with the wall.

"You…have…no…idea." He hissed. "D'you know what the Yanks are doing right now? Do ya? They are…" he pressed closer. "_Calling up_… the reservists and _shipping them off_… d'you know how many bodies are lying in the ground who joined up at 16 and figured they'd never actually have to go to war. Well guess what, Jimmy. If it can happen to them it can happen to you."

"I don't understand! All I want- all I ever wanted- is to be like you. Why won't you let me?"

Chase glared at him, looking him straight in the eye. Then, a propos of nothing, he seemed to deflate, and sank back into the couch. He looked like an old man.

"You… want… to be… like me. May I ask why?"

"I-"

"James… you're young… you're smart… whatever happened to being a teacher?"

There was silence.

Then, out of nowhere, he said "Dad's proud of you, you know."

A snort.

"He is. He.. . he told me…"

"What?" Raising his head "When?"

"Last time.. you wrote. Just before you came home. He's… he's been reading all your letters."

"_What?"_

"He… he told me he was proud of you."

"Well, isn't that just_ fucking_ great. Not, of course that he'd ever write, or call, or _acknowledge my existence for the nine years I've been taking care of his kid_… that's just bloody_ perfect_. No, but the second I go off to… to… he's suddenly so 'proud' of me." He looked up, the horror of realization dawning on his face. "No… no... James, you don't need his approval! You shouldn't even _want_ it! He's… He's… not the kind of person you want approval from. James, listen to me. You were too young… you don't remember, so you're just going to have to trust me. Don't. Don't throw your life away for someone's approval when their approval isn't worth having. "

The younger man glared at him. He stepped forward, and for a moment Chase thought he was going to slap him.

"That's… not… why." He hissed, before walking out of the house, slamming the door so hard a plant fell off the counter.

Jesus. He sank further into the sofa, resisting the flood of memories.

The first time he was in a fight- how he'd gone out back and projectile vomited.

Johnson caught him, and laughed. He was American- Chicago, maybe? But he couldn't think about him.

The blast had felt like they were playing rugby. Just a routine patrol. And then it was over and Johnson was laying there and his head was 5 metres away from his body.

Some kid died, too. The guys said he was probably Taliban anyways.. but how old could he have been? 16? He looked to be the same age as Jimmy… he couldn't be a soldier. That was before he met the quasi-child soldiers of the Taliban, and the members of the USMC who were only slightly older…

And now he's vomiting and sweating, choking on his own lungs.

This isn't right, this isn't right. How can so many already be dead and him, here, unscathed. It's wrong. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his penknife. Slowly but surely, he draws a long horizontal line across his forearm. Jack- the one who lost an arm- would like that. He'd think it was _ironic._

He was so tired…

He couldn't admit to Jimmy that this was why he didn't want him to join, that he didn't want him this fucked up.

The blood soaked into his t-shirt.

He couldn't sleep, hadn't really slept since he got back.

He was so scared to close his eyes.

**A/N Review? Pleeeeeease? *make puppy eyes* I'll buy you a cookie. **


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N Two updates in one day! I'm what I believe is technically known as "on a roll". Read, review, etc. Also: it's 2003. **

Wilson sat in silence, looking at the wall. House looked at him.

"God, Wilson, stop looking like a teenage girl listening to My Chemical Romance."

"AH-Wha-"he spluttered. "It's _sad_, House. People do, on occasion experience an emotion. I believe it is what is known as 'empathy'."

"I've no empathy for him at all."

"You say that- but you don't know! You don't know what you would have done in the same situation."

"I do."

"Well, _enlighten me,_ then."

There was silence.

House looked at Chase.

"He looks like he's seizing."

"What?" Wilson hurried over to him. He shook his head sadly. "Not seizing, I think, just nightmares."

A cry filled the room, part moan, part howl. It hardly sounded human.

Wilson rushed over. "Chase! Wake up! It's okay… Ow!" He'd put a hand on the younger man's shoulder only to have it grabbed in a tight, vice-like grip.

"He's still sleeping."

"'Course he is."

"I don't understand you, House."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"No!"

He pressed his ear closer to the phone.

"He- he's- was 19… my god.. . what would posess…"

He listened closely. "Of-of course I'll be there. He was one of mine. Kay. Yeah. My condolences."

He hung up the phone and walked over to the small apartments only closet, carefully removing his dress uniform. He'd worn it far too often, lately, and not for parades. Reaching to the back, he pulled out his shoes. As he lifted them up, he heard something fall out of them. He reached to the back of the closet until his hands came into contact with a small Ziploc baggie. He pulled it out and stared at the contents.

"No.. no.." he gasped as though someone had slapped him.

"Why would you do that, Jimmy?"

He cradled his forehead in his hands, and began to cry.

An hour later he was at the funeral.

To Jack's mother he said. "I'm sorry. He was a good man. I'll miss him."

She stared at him. "Man?" She asked tearfully.

Later, as he and Dylan were walking home, they stopped by the bridge.

_"Why?_" Chase asked softly. "Why would he do that?"

"Maybe…"he trailed off "Maybe he just couldn't live with himself, Robbie."

Chase shook his head. "He was always so happy…"

"Yeah, well, people change."

"No!" He turned to him tearfully, his face red. "No they don't! Not that much! Why would you – how could he-" he was becoming hysterical.

"Robbie…"

"He was _nineteen_ years old, Dyl. _He had so much time_… he could've made it right. He was so young... He had a second chance, Dyl, and a third, and a fourth! Why would you hurt yourself like that?"

"look who's talking."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I just think it's a little hypocritical of you to chastise anyone else for harming themselves… I know, Robbie. I'm surprised the ADF keeps you."

"Don't know what you're talking about." He muttered

"Oh?" And, grabbing his arm, he pulled up the sleeve of his shirt. A long, angry red line appeared.

"Cut myself on a piece of wire."

"Yeah," Dylan said, shaking his head, "Yeah, I bet you did."

There was silence.

"Can you answer me something, Robbie? Can you honestly tell me that you've never thought of doing the same thing as Jack?"

"I… I wouldn't."

"But you've thought of it."

"Suicide… is a mortal sin."

"So's killing."

"D'you think I don't _know that_?" He shouted, then sat down on the sidewalk. "I know that." He said in a near whisper. He looked up at him, wild eyed. "I_ know_ it's a sin! I've been- I've been going to church and Confession and… and.. it's…"

"It's what?"

"How can there be a God who lets things like this happen?"

There was silence.

"Anyways, I hurt _myself_. I do_ penance_- I don't hurt _other_ people with-with what I do."

"Oh yeah?" Dylan laughed nastily. "Maybe not specifically, Robbie, but d'you know what? Every time there's a casualty and we hear about it- and Christ knows there are more and more of them every day,- before they've identified it and the media is just reporting '6 Australian soldiers were killed today in a rocket attack. The soldier's have not yet been named, as the family is yet to be contacted'- Rose calls me up in tears… I've had to stop watching the news, for fuck's sake. I'm a _teacher,_ Robbie. And every year I watch boys from year 11 and 12- _Year Eleven_, Robbie! Go off to war, and every year more and more come back in pine boxes. Don't tell me you're not hurting anybody, Robbie, because we both know it's _crap."_

Chase had pulled himself into a fetal position. He looked like a little boy hiding from a nightmare. Maybe he was.

"I'm.. I'm going back, Dyl."

"What? Why?"

"I'm… I'm going to go to med school- with- with the Army. If I can get some experience with and emergency assistance team, they might even waive my residency." This was said in a mechanical monotone.

"You'll kill yourself."

Robbie looked up at him. "I'm already dead, Dyl."

"Don't say that! Don't EVER say that!"

"I'm sorry." He pulled his knees up closer to his chest.

"Robbie? What's wrong?"

"I think Jimmy's using smack."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~**~*~*~**~*~*~**~*~*~*~


	18. Chapter 18

_A/N Short chapter in late 2004. I like this one, although you might not. Oh, and- minor slash at the end. If you don't like it, skip the last section. Or don't bitch about it. _

"Wolf fans in the stands

if you hear us clap your hands!

CLAP CLAP CLAP

CLAP CLAP CLAP

CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP

Wolf fans in the stand

If you hear us stomp your feet!

STOMP STOMP STOMP

STOMP STOMP STOMP

STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP STOMP

Wolf fans in the stands

If you hear us slap your knees!

SLAP SLAP SLAP

SLAP SLAP SLAP

SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP SLAP

WOLF FANS IN THE STANDS

IF YOU HEAR US DO ALL THREE!

SLAP SLAP SLAP

STOMP STOMP STOMP

CLAP CLAP CLAP CLAP CALP CLAP CLAP"

The redhead ran off the field while the rest of the squad pumped up the crowd.

"A_ cheerleade_r Rose? Really?"

"I'm not speaking to you."

"Oh, come one, I didn't-"

"-not because you're an ass."

"Wha-"

"You know why."

He did.

"Rose, I didn't- I told him- It wasn't MY IDEA"

"Don't care."

"He's 18- he didn't need my permission-"

"-But he's Jimmy, so he did need your blessing. What disgusts me is that you gave it to him."

"I told him not to! By the time I found out for sure it was done! He wasn't getting out of it- how would my hurting him have made it any better?"

"He could die, Robert."

"Rose…" He sighed, and bent down to pull the girl into his arms. "He won't die. I won't let him." He nudged her playfully. "Nothing is going to happen to him."

"If there. Is. So much. As. A scratch. On him. I am blaming you."

"I understand."

"Good."

He shifted, looking to change the subject. They seemed to be tempting fate.

"So… uh... how's Cara taking it?"

Rose rolled her eyes. "It wouldn't be our family if it wasn't taken in the most emo way possible, now would it?"

Robbie looked troubled.

"Oh, relax, you big goof" She half smiled. "She'll be fine."

He was silent.

"Look, it's not like that… I'm sorry I said anything." She paused. "Oh, come on! Don't give me the sad-puppy eyes. It isn't fair."

He continued to stare dolefully at her.

"She'll be fine, Robbie."

He nodded, then shook his head, like a dog tossing water out of its fur.

"You idiot."

"Yeah."

"Goddamnit, Robbie…" She sighed. "If anything happens to my little brother, you, sir, are a dead man."

%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$

"And you thought I'd never graduate."

Dylan half smiled. "That may be stretching it…"

"What's wrong?" Chase asked, noticing that he seemed… off.

Dylan shook his head. "Nothing."

"C'mon Dyl, I've known you since we were three… I can tell when something's up."

"Just worried."

"C'mon." Robbie got up abruptly and strolled into the vacant lot beside the apartment building.

"What are you worried about ?" He snapped, then paused. "Sorry, that was a stupid question. He'll be all right. After all," he said, with an attempt at jocularity, "I've manged okay."

Dylan stared at him sadly.

"I'm not… that's not what… I'm worried about you!"

"Me?"Chase cocked his chin, looking shocked. "What are you worried about me for? I'll be fine… I always am."

"No, you're not!" Dylan said in an anguished cry. "You're… you're not you… you always change when you come home… You'll _die _over there, Robbie. You're too lucky. Noone can be that lucky."

"I'm not lucky, I'm careful." He said with a queer look on his face.

"You'll die, Robbie. I know it."

"I'm not going anywhere."

The next thing he knew, their lips were pressed together, very briefly.

Had that really just happened?

**A/N The slash was never planned, it just kinda happened- it seems right. Review! C'mon... please? I'll be your friend.... **


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N This is late 2004 for the first paragraph and 2005 for the rest. I hope you excuse the sort of internal monologue way of writing- it was the only way I could write this chapter without seeming trite. **

**And, before you ask, this isn't the last chapter, and, also before you ask, no, this isn't just going to go on indefinitely until I get tired of it. There's going to be some more House and Wilson-y goodness, a bit of a surprise about House and some more Chase and his family. I have a plan! I swear!  
**

The blast came unexpectedly.

It was like being kicked in the chest, then a searing pain.

He was breaking out of his skin.

He was hot, then cold, then hot again.

There was screaming.

Someone was shouting.

Far off, a baby cried.

His shoulder was burning, oh dear lord he was on fire, someone needed to put out the fire.

Then he was shivering… he was tired, so tired…

Everything went white, and then red, and then black.

Merry Christmas.

%$%$%$%45$%$%$%$%4%%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$

No.

Goddamnit.

No!

This couldn't happen. It didn't happen. No. He was the oldest. It wasn't natural. Oh god, make it stop. _Please._

Rose was going to kill him.

He was disgusted with himself that that was his first thought.

He didn't cry.

Couldn't.

That would mean he was dead, and goddamnit, that could NOT happen.

He thought of the boy playing soccer, of those eyes-oh God those eyes- when he told him the truth, the pale wrecked face of a junkie, the tanned athletic body. The shorn head, his blond curls on the floor beneath him.

No.

He was too alive! This didn't happen. He was so young… too young for a war where, goddamnit all to hell, he didn't belong, none of them belonged, they weren't helping.. Why in Gods name werethey there?

What kind of people pick this as their profession.

Him.

Him and Jimmy.

Oh god, he couldn't handle this, he wasn't cut out for this, he'd seen it time and time again- he was hardened to it- but this time was different and he already hurt so much and dear god_ why won't you let me DIE!_

HE couldn't take this.

He wasn't strong enough.

He covered his eyes, and something inside of him… broke.

He imploded.

It wouldn't take long… they brought him the tablets every four hours. 8 miligrams of morphine. He'd bear the pain- it shouldn't take more than a day.

He was expecting it to be peaceful, like sleeping.

It wasn't.

Within 5 minutes he was projectile vomiting, screaming because of the pain in his chest and body.

He blacked out then.

Doesn't remember much of what happened after that 'till he got home.

A weary, bearded man looking at him sadly. Shaking his head when he tried to articulate why he couldn't do it, why he couldn't take this goddamned life anymore. Tried to explain the blood, the noise. He just wanted quiet…

The man shook his head, looking sad.

I know, son. I understand.

He'd seen enough like him to understand.

Recommended he be Honourably Discharged… He'd gotten the DC, after all. He was some kind of goddamned_ hero_.

That kid.

He'd be the same age as Jimmy now if he were alive.

He wasn't sure which 'he' he was talking about.

And he was still in so much pain, it was doubtful he'd regain full use of his right arm anyways. Delicate work would be okay, his hands were fine, but he doubted he could raise it high enough to lift a gun. He wouldn't, anyways. They'd had to replace the shoulder. The bones in his ribs were shattered, as was his pelvis. One foot had been crushed. The hearing in his left ear was probably gone for good, but he could compensate. The skin covering his torso had been incinerated, when they got to him it was hanging off in strips. Shrapnel was embedded throughout his abdomen. It pierced his intestines, his stomach, his kidneys. Damage was probably permanent.

%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$

And he's back home and his father is talking to him for the first time in almost 10 years. He's saying that he needs to leave, that he needs a change of scenery.

He knows of a job opening at a hospital in the US, if he's interested.

He is.

His father leaves, and as he walks out the door, mumbles that he's proud of him.

This, for some reason, enrages him.

He struggles to get to his feet- he's still weak- but he's so furious that he makes it and manages one or two steps towards the door, to shout at him, tell him that this was all his fault, when his legs collapsed beneath him and all he could do was cry.

His father was right, he needed a change of scenery because every picture and every door in this godforsaken house and every place in this godforsaken country reminded him of his brother.

He cried and then he stopped because he was a man and a soldier and shouldn't that count for something when it comes to handling your emotions? But in the end it doesn't because god is a fucking sadistic bastard and so he weeps, screams like a frightened toddler. And then he's done and he doesn't feel anything anymore.

There's a funeral and the look from his sister is worse than a thousand gunshot wounds and when he hobbles up to the front of the church to read from the Bible she turns tail and walks out.

She's only talked to him once since he came home and that was only to tell him that he's ruined their family.

He didn't think that was fair, the ruining had started long before he made what seemed like the best choice at the time, but on one, very visceral level, she was right. He'd been the one who was happy, playful, popular, handsome-beautiful. Alive. And yet he, the quiet one, the faggot, he was the one who was alive and the good one, the golden haired child, was dead.

Dylan had come to see him once, to say goodbye because he was healed up pretty good now even if his shoulder still burned and his hips and back twinged when it was raining, and he wouldn't let him in at first. Once he came in, Case refused to talk to him ad he got angry and told him that he had ruined his life and that he was going to hell and that he had no right to treat them all this way. He was right, but all Chase could do was sit there and stare at him, carefully memorizing every trace of his face because he knew that he wouldn't see him again.. He was scared to think and he didn't want to look like a wuss in front of Dylan so he sat there and soon he couldn't feel anything. He was numb, but it wasn't a pleasant numbness. The pain was still there but he couldn't feel anything else and so he watched motionless as the only person he had ever kissed walked out.

%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%$%454545454545454545454%$%45$%45454

He gets to America and he's got a job interview with a man, apparently he's world famous, he honestly doesn't give a damn but his resume is impressive, he'd qualified as an intensivist before he left, or was sent home, the bloody fucking irony of the whole fucking thing was that he'd only had a few more weeks on as captain of his platoon before they transferred him to the medical corps, they considered his few stints with the emergency response teams to be the rough equivalent of a residency but he knew some folks who wanted to be police officers who's training was waived because of the exact same experience so he didn't think it meant much but there's no denying that he was skillful and had good references.

He was hired and soon moved into a grotty apartment on the bad side of town. He made enough to support better, but he was still sending more than half of his paycheck home to the girls, even if Rose was well on her way to becoming a leading voice in the anti-war community, activism didn't pay much and he knew that Aunt Alice struggled to support Cara on her meager pension.

His dad had been wrong to say that a change of scenery might help.

Everywhere he looked he saw James, saw how it might have been.

Every night at 7 pm he returned home form work, his body aching from pain and his mind aching from memories.

Every night at 8 pm he tried to drown out the memories with copius amounts of bourbon.

Every night at 9 pm he comes damn close to giving into his emotions.

Every night at 10 pm he becomes lubricated enough to fall asleep.

Every night at 11 pm he screams and shakes, reliving the 'heroism'

Every night at 12 am he wakes up in shock, wanting to cry.

Every night at 1 am he finishes the last of the second bottle of bourbon and remember the what-ifs, the might-have-beens, the should-have-beens.

Every night at 2 am his hand itched for the phone or a pen, to call Dylan or Rose, tell them that he was sorry.

Every night at 3 am he wakes up from an hours sleep drenched in sweat, screaming and choking on his own bile.

Every night at 4 am his arms and legs were bathed in a bath of blood.

Every night at 5 am the wounds were neatly bandaged and scabs were starting to form.

Every morning at 6 am he pulled the scabs off and the wound became puffy and raw.

When it was hurting was the only time he felt alive.

Every morning at 7 am, he showered and brushed his teeth, rinsing off the smell of a night of memories.

Every morning at 8 am, he is at work, showing no sign of discomfort- or emotion, really- behind his neatly buttoned, cleanly-shaven façade.

The only time the façade is threatened is when they're working with children.

It is only when he feels alive that he wants to die.

It is only when he wants to die that he feels alive.

It is only when he feels love that he feels grief.

It is only when he feels grief that he feels love.

**A/N Well? Review?**

**If you'll allow me to do so, I'd like to take this opportunity to stump for a few pet causes:**

**if you are American, the Wounded Warriors program with the United States Marine Corps does great things with casualties- physical and mental- and veterans. It can be reached (and donated to) at ****www.****. **

**If you're Canadian, the Royal Canadian Legion, once again, has many great programs and their website is****.ca/ **

**If you're British, your wounded troops are serviced by .org as well as the Minsitry of Defence, the same holds true for Canada and the USA (well, Veterans Affairs in the case of Canada) but I'm trying to link only to NGOs**

**If you're Australian, you have a similar program the US and it can be seen at .  
**

**Any other countries, if you're interested, feel free to PM me or leave a review and I can send you a link.**

**I beg that if you're interested, visit the websites and donate, or volunteer, or simply spread the word- it doesn't take much and every effort helps.  
**

**Kay, I'm done being a political army family member/friend (doesn't have quite the same zing as army brat) **


	20. Chapter 20

**A/N Yes, this is a ridiculously short and not overly-well written chapter, but I needed to bridge the last chapter and the next one- I promise the next one will kick five times as much ass to make up for it. **

**Also, hats off to eurogirl for guessing the major plot point of this chapter! Giver her virtual cookies! Oh, and I don't own House. If I did, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction.  
**

"You can't just run away, you know."

The younger man looked up from the edge of the bed, covered in a sheen of sweat, his eyes bleary.

"What?"

Wilson looked at House sharply. He had been trying to tactfully pretend they hadn't been privy to the younger mans nightmare.

"You can't." House looked off into the corner.

"Oh, sure, you can try… but it just keeps getting bigger, so to escape it, you make yourself smaller, cut off little pieces of who you are… In the end, you're lonely. Bitter. Small. And it catches up to you anyways, like a snowball rolling down a hill."

Chase looked up. "What is that, Zen for Dummies?" he asked feeling slightly perturbed by the change in behaviour.

"Running away is the coward's option." He responded to the man's look.

"I'm not. Running. Away."

The older man looked at him sardonically, with raised eyebrows.

"Okay! I'm… I'm… I'm doing the right thing."

"You say that an awful lot, _Captain_, which leads me to conclude that you don't have a fucking clue _what _the right thing is!"

"Oh, and you do_? Enlighten us_, House. What would you have done?"

"That's not the point.. generally, a pretty good rule is that the right thing is that which has the greatest benefit to the most people and the last harm!"

"Well, _that's just fucking great,_ isn't it. D'you think I get up in the morning and go 'how can I cause as much harm as possible today?"

"Even if you _did_, you could hardly have done more."

"I cannot believe you! What would you have done, if you're so certain."

House paused.

Chase looked at him, his face red.

"Well?"

"I… I would have done the same thing. That's how I know it's stupid."

**Review? Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeease. The more reviews, the thicker the creative juices flow, and the sooner I update. I'm just sayin'.**


	21. Chapter 21

**A/N I have it on good authority that very little of anything was actually *done* in Taiwan, but... still. **

**I don't own House... but you know that.  
**

"What?" shouted Wilson.

House looked at Wilson curiously.

"That doesn't make any sense…" Chase muttered.

House looked at him, bemused.

"You couldn't have been more than.. what, 14? When the draft ended."

House smiled emotionlessly "Who said I was drafted?"

"Well… I… I just assumed-"

"-What? You never heard of _patriotism_?" He said cuttingly.

"I-well-I-"

"_Exactly._ No, Robert… I was young, and, much like you, *desperate* for approval."

"_What?_ You hated your father." Said Wilson

Keeping his eyes on Chase, he asked "And you didn't?"

"Who?" "Chase said, confused. "Me?"

"No, Barbie over there- yes, you, goddamnit."

"That's not why I joined."

"Sure."

"It wasn't my decision!"

"Why do you think it was mine?"

"You were young! Smart! You had options!"

"Gee, are you listening to yourself? Young, smart… hmm, who does that sound like…_ I wonder…"_

"It- It's no the same! I had no choice! You- you had a future- a family that loved you- friends-"

"Wow, I didn't think it was possible to be a bigger hypocrite than Wilson. Congratulations, Robert."

"What-I-I'm not a hypocrite!"

"Yes, you are. And anyways, you can stop flipping out. I wasn't in it for very long."

"I'm the hypocrite? Sorry, who's spent the entire evening yelling at me about my choices- saying that, 'it was my decision, that 'I had options'. _You_ are the biggest effing _hypocrite_ I've ever met! And- wait, what did you mean 'I wasn't in it for very long'?"

"The Army, _genius."_

"What-when- where were you deployed? 'Nam?"

"I'm not that old. And throw a who and how in there and you have successfully completed a grade two book report."

Wilson just shook his head. "This is surreal." He muttered.

Nobody paid him the slightest bit of attention.

"Oh, chill out. Taiwan."

"When?"

" '78-80"

"Why?"

He shrugged.

"It's not the same."

"Oh? How the fuck is it any different?"

"Two years as opposed to ten. Taiwan, not Iraq. You weren't _at war_. There's a_ big_ difference!"

There was silence.  
"I bet that you- you were- you were probably welcomed back home as a hero! Your family was probably so proud of you- House." He paused to try and calm himself down. "-I. Killed. My. Brother. There is nothing- nothing- that can compare with that, so don't even try."

"That wasn't your fault."

"What?"

"Your sister was grieving… I know you're self-absorbed, but surely even _you_ must have realized that."

"I ruined their lives, House." He stood up.

"What are you doing?" asked Wilson

"It doesn't matter."

"Chase?"

"It doesn't matter."

"Chase!"

He started walking towards the door, stumbling a bit.

"Chase! Where are you going?"

The man paused, and turned around. An observer to the scene would have seen a tall, blond man, looking exhausted and dressed in dinosaur pajamas bottoms and a puckered and scarred torso, a brown-haired man standing in front of an arm-chair with a look of shock on his face, and, sitting in the corner, an older man with a small, self-satisfied smile.

"Home."

**A/N Review? **

**I'm really looking forward to the next chapter, I've been planning it for a long time. Till then....  
**


	22. Chapter 22

**A/N I'm a fan of this chapter... but I just love Danny.**

The young man took a deep breath before knocking, twice, on the familiar robin's egg blue door.

He'd gotten some strange looks- the only clothes he had that were appropriate for mid-January in Brisbane were old- a baggy wife-beater with ADF written on the front and an old pair of basketball shorts- and exposed rather more of his mangled skin than he was accustomed to. Once, a woman had come up to him- a pretty little thing, not more than 24 or 25- and asked him, tremulously, what had happened. He had answered honestly, and she shook his hand.

Thank you, she said.

He arranged his mouth into something he hoped approximated a smile and said goodbye.

_Knock._

_Knock._

Finally, the door opened.

A tall, thin man stood there, his eyes large in his face and his dark hair in need of a cut.

"Dylan?"

The man stared at him.

"Dylan Boyden?"

"Yeah…"

"Don't you…. It's me."

"Oh, my God… _Jesus, Mary and Joseph_- is-_ Robbie?"_

"Hi, Dyl."

The man shook his head.

"Hi."

"You're- you're alive."

"This is news?"

"Well.. no,… but, Christ… I'd… we'd.. "

"Written me off?" Inquired he lightly.

"Not- not exactly."

The two men stood there and stared at each other for a minute.

Then, seeming to come to his senses, the darker man said "Oh, god, you must be exhausted. D"you want some coffee?"

Sure, Chase said.

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

They sat down at the dining room table, the coffee pot between them.

"Christ." Said Dylan.

"Yeah."

"Are you really there?" Asked Dylan. "Only I've thought it was you dozens of times-" he broke off, embarrassed.

Chase pretended not to notice. "It's really me, Dyl."

The darker man was trying not to cry.

"I-I didn't think-"

He failed.

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again."

"Well, I'm here now."

The two men hugged.

You look like crap.

You're not so hot yourself.

"Au contraire," responded Dylan, "I am always hot."

"That…" Chase began, "That.. I can agree with."

By this point they were sitting on the couch. Dylan ran his fingers along the cuts and scars of his arm.

_"Jesus."_

"Yeah."

"That must've hurt."

"Which?"

"The big one."

"Meh. That was… that was the big one." He swallowed. "Felt a bit like getting knocked over in rugby."

They both knew what 'the big one' referred to.

"You're allowed to cry, you know, Robbie."

There was no response.

"Really."

" I do it every night, Dyl. Every goddamned night. I haven't slept in ages."

"Nightmares?"

"I don't sleep, how can I dream?"

"That's a yes, then."

" 'To die is to sleep… to sleep, perchance, to dream."  
"I've always loved that quote."  
"D'you think.. d'you think that's really what it's like?" he whispered hoarsely.

"I… I don't know, Robbie."

"D'you think- think it hurts?"

"Dying? Nah- I think life hurts a lot more."

"Hmm."

"But you know what else I think? I think living beats the heck out of the alternative."

"But it hurts." This in a voice so quiet he could barely hear it.

"Sometimes… sometimes you just gotta let it hurt."

" I guess."

He was crying.

"Have you seen Rose yet? Cara?"

"How can I, Dyl? How can I- how can I look at them, after what I've done?"

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"Right."  
"You didn't!'  
"Yeah. These are the exact words which came out of_ your _mouth, Dylan 'You've ruined our lives.' The ones that came out of Rose's aren't fit for polite company."

"We were_ upset_, Robbie! You, of all people, should understand that."

There was silence.

"So… I'm thinking that was a no…"

A snort.

"Look.. I have to go to work… d'you want to come and talk to my class?"

"What? _Why?"_

"We have guest speakers all the time. You're living history, Robbie."

"Yeah."  
"So, you coming?"

"D'you have anything I could wear?"

"Do… do you have your uniform with you?"

"Always do."  
"D'you think… d'you think you could wear it?"

"I guess."

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*

An hour later, Chase stood facing a class full of Year 10 students.

"Um.. Hi, everyone. My name is Captain Robert Chase-"

"-We already had recruiters come and see us." Cut in a large boy at the back.

"-I-I'm not a recruiter."

"-Then _why_ are you here?"

"Daniel!" snapped Dylan. "Show a little respect!"

"Yes, Mr. Boyden."  
"Ooooh…" muttered Chase out of the side of his mouth. "It's _Mr._ Boyden, is it?"

"Shut up."

"What am I supposed to say?"

"Follow my lead."

"Comforting."

"Class- _Oy!_ Shut up!- Class, Captain Chase is here to talk to us about the ongoing conflicts in the Middle East from the perspective of someone on the ground."

"You were overseas?"

"Did you get shot?"

Chase shook his head. "Yes and yes."

_"Cool_."

"It wasn't cool! It hurt!" Chase decided to change tactics. "I… I had a brother. His name was Jimmy. He was tall… and strong… and he loved football. He was the golden boy… the greatest kid I knew."

"What happened to him?"

"He died.

…

He was killed by an I.E.D- an improvised explosive device, also known as a roadside bomb. He was on patrol when it happened- and three soldier and six civilians died- but none of them were my brother.

I miss him.

After he died, I wanted to die. I tried to kill myself, but, as you can see, it didn't work.

The toughest part of being back home is that you can spot a vet from a mile away, if you know how to look- their eyes, their hair, their posture- even their shoes. And they're so_-goddamn_-young. It is _wrong_ to have 18 year olds who can't sleep at night because they dream of the face of the man they shot. It is _wrong_ to have 19 year olds with no legs. It is _wrong_ to have twenty year olds who kill themselves because they see no future. It is so-goddamned-_**wrong**_ to have people under the age of 18 fighting and dying for a war they don't fully understand.

I don't know… what I'm supposed to day to you.

I don't know… what's worn or what's right.

All I know is that the boys over there- the men over there-and women too- are doing the best they can to try and end it, because they want to come home too.

I met… some of the most wonderful, bravest people over there…

You don't have to support the mission, but… they try.

_They try so goddamn hard._

…

Thank you."

About halfway through, Chase had nearly started crying. Now, he looked up.

The students were giving him a standing ovation.

**A/N review?**


	23. Chapter 23

**A/N- I know, I know, I haven't written more in ages. Are exams a decent excuse? No? Okay?**

**Oh, and I don't own House. So sorry to dispell any illusions you may have had.  
**

"Robbie, you haven't gotten out of your pants in a week."

The man looked up at him.

"So?"

_"So,_ you can't live like that. Not in my house." He sighed. "Look, I know you're upset about how it turned out with your sisters-"

"U_pset_? Wherever did you get that idea? I mean, _why would I be upset_ that my own sister refused to acknowledge me?"

"Robbie-"

"-Whatever." He stood up. "I'm going home."

_"Home?"_

"To the US. Whatever."

Dylan looked at him long and hard. "No, you're not."

"What?"

"I'm not letting you go. You'll never come back. I'm not letting you slip away from me again."

_"What?"_

"Not unless I go with you."

Chase's face turned an odd colour.

"Let me make some calls."

*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_*_

_June_

Once again, the bands were playing. Once again, the older man stood in his office window, looking at the street below.

From the street, a younger man looked up. He half-smiled, gave a little mock salute, and walked on, his arm tightly around the waist of another.

The older man wrinkled his brow.

Motive, he mused, is a curious thing. We all like to believe that we have only pure motives- but when we get down and lok at them, they're all as sordid as the others.

The 'right' thing, after all, is subjective.

He thought back to his days as a hot-headed young man, desperate for approval. He smiled at the image of the boy in his head, so impatient to become a man.

His smile faded as he looked down at the street scene below. The man he was looking at hadn't been desperate for the responsibility like he was. There's a difference, he supposed, but does that make either morally superior?

Of course not, he concluded, because there is no black and white in this world, only shades of grey… and, looking down at the streetlamps festooned in ribbon- yellow, to brighten or to darken, depending on your perspective. There was a metaphor there somewhere.

Everyone makes mistakes. The difference is whether or not we realize it. He surveyed the street once again, at the two men, both thin and rather pale, but with a radiance on their faces the belied the dark circles under their eyes.

He reached up and touched his own face, then turned abruptly and went to his desk. He rummaged in it for the four photos he knew were in their somewhere.

Near to the top was a family- blonde and tanned, a redheaded girl and a tall, thin dark boy.

Next came the two brothers- together. Dated at the back as fall 2004.

Then an older, faded photo of a young man, his chin jutting out defiantly, dated 1976.

Finally, a man, perhaps in his early twenties, in military uniform, as with the others, standing with his arm around a young dark-haired beauty. Dated 1955.

Even those taken originally in colour had faded, becoming grey, neverending shades of grey.

The man hobbled over to the window and returned the salute.

_fin_

**A/N Sooooooooo... whatdya think? I didn't want to give an 'oh, everything is happy, la dy da dy dah' kind of ending, but I didn't really want to kill Chase either (I thought about it.) Now, what should I do next? Open to plot bunnies. **


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